


The Bro Code

by Noelleian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Male Bonding, Post-Endless Waltz, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 13:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10877454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelleian/pseuds/Noelleian
Summary: As part of a decade-long tradition, the boys reunite for their tenth annual get together. With each passing year, they unravel their secrets little by little and reinforce the powerful bond of brotherhood. Oftentimes, at the expense of Relena's prized possessions.





	The Bro Code

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ho! So this came out from somewhere inside my brain and I just had to get it down on paper. There are mentions of past child abuse, but nothing too graphic. This is a male bonding fic that contains humor as well as some angst. It's a wee bit cracky and I think this qualifies as a speed fic since I wrote all 4000+ words in the span of five hours lol.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. ^.^

Their ten year reunion may not have looked like much, but for the five former Gundam pilots sprawled in various states of leisure which formed a half circle around the study's marble fireplace, it was perfection. **  
**

Unlike Relena’s ritzy party, there were no airs to put on. No awkward niceties to exchange with people who did such things for a living and therefore, were experts at it. No over-salted caviar on ridiculously expensive crackers, or champagne that cost as much as Heero made in a year, only to be pissed down the toilet an hour later.  
  
No uncomfortable tuxes, restricting cummerbunds, or bow ties so tight, they cut off his airway. No sticky hair products to keep his unruly mop in place, and best of all, no evil eye from his brother-in-law.  
  
You’d think after five years of marriage, Milliardo would realize that Heero was not some scoundrel sniffing out his baby sister for a Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma’am.  
  
This informal and private reunion was more his style. He didn’t have to dress up for these boys, or make stilted small talk, or worry about where the fine line was when engaging in political commentary. Here, he could just be himself and these boys, his family, would accept it without judgement.  
  
“Maxwell, get your damned feet off the pizza box! Some people might still want to eat that.”  
  
Of course, acceptance was a two-way street.  
  
Duo, who was lying flat on his back on the floor, lifted his head up and stared at Wufei with beer-bleary eyes before glancing down towards his feet where they rested on top of their supper. “What? They’re not touching the pizza.”  
  
“No, but I can smell those revolting clods from over here and the stench is going to permeate the pizza and then we’ll be able to taste it. I really don’t want my food to taste like your nasty feet.”  
  
Duo’s mouth curled and they all braced themselves for the inevitable snark. “It’ll just add a little spice to your life that you currently lack, Fei-Ray.”  
  
Wufei bristled and prepared to launch a counter-attack, but was intercepted by Trowa whose uncanny ability to act as a mediator and overall calming presence was second to none. Needless to say, Trowa had ultimately discovered his true calling in the field of psychology. The Chinese man scowled, leaning back into the plush recliner without another word and went back to picking at the label of his wine cooler with a sour look on his face.  
  
Quatre pulled himself out of Trowa’s arms and yanked the pizza box out from under Duo’s feet with a glare of warning. The communication in his eyes was loud and clear: _Do not provoke him._  
  
Wufei was still reeling from a recent divorce with his wife and former Preventers partner, Sally Po. They’d agreed upon a settlement, citing ‘irreconcilable differences’ as the reason for the split. In a nutshell, they simply could not get along, at least not in a domestic setting. More often than not, their personalities clashed and the constant fights were not only taking a toll on them, but also on their two young children.

So now, he was delegated to that of a part-time father as the court divvied out shared custody. While Sally got the children during the fall and winter months, Wufei got them during the spring and summer months. The amazing thing was, they still got along swimmingly while at work and they had an admirably amicable relationship outside of it.

Heero felt sorry for him, though he wasn’t so stupid as to tell Wufei that. The other man didn’t exactly take pity very well, but Heero’s heart went out to him all the same. First losing Meiran at such a young age and then it seemed as if all of his dreams had finally come true when he’d fallen in love with Sally. He had it all. An intelligent, funny, and beautiful wife, two adorable children, a house and two cars. The whole shebang.

He’d agreed to let Sally keep the house and found himself an apartment on the other side of town. He'd been a widower at the age of fifteen and now he was a twenty seven year old divorcee and single father. To the rest of the world, he was just another statistic.

“Maxwell, I swear to Christ. Goad me like that again and I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass, you’ll be coughing up shoe polish for the next six months.”

At least he still had his health.

Heero glanced over at Duo who was now sitting upright with his beer bottle upended as he drained the last of it and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He stared down at the bottle in awe and whistled through his teeth. “Damn, this is good shit.”

Heero nodded and took a drink from his own bottle. “Milliardo’s friend has his own brewery. Makes the stuff himself.”

“You can tell. This ain’t none of that piss water those cheap fuckers skim off the top. This is the sludge they scrape off the bottom of the barrel where all the tasty barley and hops coagulate. You know, you can tell a man by the way he loves his beer.” He held up the empty bottle and shook it. “This is a man who takes great care in his craft. My compliments to the chef.”

“He has a website where you can rate his beers and leave a review. He makes all kinds. Pilsner, ale, lager, stout, porter, you name it.” Heero set his empty bottle aside and reached for another one from the large bowl of ice that was doubling as a cooler. “I like his pale ale, but I figured you’d appreciate this one.”

“Gimme one.” Duo held out his hands and caught the bottle that was flung towards him, using the edge of Relena’s custom-made Valentino coffee table to pop the cap off.

Heero winced and checked the table for dings. “I can’t believe you’ve been married for nine years and Hilde still hasn’t been able to turn you into a civilized gentleman.’’

Duo grinned. “Can’t tame the untamable. Working class blood runs like diesel in my veins.”

“That would explain why your farts reek like turpentine,” Trowa mused.

Duo gave him a dark look as Wufei threw his head back and cackled. “You know, Tro. Ever since you became some hoity-toity, bigshot shrink, you’ve been one the most insufferable sons-a-bitches I’ve ever known.”

“Trowa just so happens to be one of the world’s most vetted and reputable psychologists in the entire world,” Quatre announced proudly, predictably coming to his husband’s defense. “He’s won four awards for -”

“International Psychologist of the Year,” Duo recited with a roll of his eyes. “Yes, Quat, we know. Thank you for bringing that up for the...what is it now? The billionth time? I’m sure he makes Freud very proud.”

“You seem to be harboring some resentment, Duo.”

Duo raised his hands and made the sign of the cross with his index fingers. “Nuh-uh. Don’t you dare, man. You are not going to sucker me into yet another round of psychoanalysis. I fell for that once. Never again. I need to start carrying holy water with me, or something.”

Heero snorted. “He’s a therapist, not a vampire.”

“Same difference. They both suck the life out of you.”

Trowa smiled sweetly. “No. Just your money.”

“Like I said.”

“Don’t worry, Duo. Friends get a special discount.”

“In your dreams, you brain-picker.”

Wufei’s face was maliciously gleeful. “One must have a brain in order for it to be picked.”

“Go fuck yourself, Chang.”

“Honestly, Duo. Why are you so hostile about psychology anyway?” Quatre asked him. “It helps a lot of people.”

Duo leaned back onto his hands and stared into the fire. “Not in my experience," he whispered with an air of cryptic melodrama.

Heero glanced over at him in surprise. “You went to therapy?”

“Briefly.”

“Why?”

Duo looked decidedly uncomfortable and Heero wasn’t sure he would even answer, but finally, he tipped his head back and blew out a sigh of defeat. “I had... _have_ a bit of a...titty fixation.”

Wufei snickered, Quatre looked disgusted, Trowa looked contemplative, and Heero said, “Doesn’t every straight guy?”

Duo scoffed. “This went far beyond any 'normal' interest. I went to therapy because I was driving Hilde nuts and she threatened to cut me off if I didn’t see a shri - uh, therapist.”

“...And?”

Duo rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I can’t believe I’m even telling you this, but...the therapist told me I was suffering from something called Orphan Syndrome.”

“Ah,” Trowa said, nodding his head as if this all made sense.

“What the hell is that?” Wufei asked.

“It’s different for everybody, but in my case, he said I was so obsessed with boobs because I didn’t have a mother growing up and I, supposedly, internalized my need for a mother figure which evolved into a fetish when I reached sexual maturity.”

Trowa was nodding enthusiastically now as if this little tale had led to an inevitable conclusion. “That makes sense.”

Duo stared at him with his mouth agape. “He literally told me I was lusting for my mother!”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Oh, fuck off. How do you _think_ I feel?” Duo scowled and drained half his beer. “I was so creeped out, I never went back.”

Quatre leaned his elbow on his knee and rested his chin in his hand. “But I grew up without a mother, too. I don’t have a fixation like that.”

“Yeah, you do. Your obsession just happens to be between your husband’s legs.”

“Are you implying that not having a mother made me gay?”

Duo gestured at the blond like the answer to that was obvious. “Well, _something_ made you gayer than Liberace in a velvet pantsuit.”

“It’s called genetics, Duo,” Heero supplied.

“Whatever.” He waved his hand as if this was merely anecdotal. “I’m just sayin’. Quat’s basically a girl with a dick.”

“Fuck you! I am not a girl!”

“Well, you’re not exactly manly, buddy. Look at you. You’re drinking wine coolers for Christ’s sake.”

Wufei glanced down at the wine cooler in his own hand and blushed, but Quatre was more outraged than embarrassed.

“Oh, I get it. So, if I’m not a beer-swilling, ball-scratching, truck-driving... _Neanderthal_ who watches ‘wrasslin’ every Friday night and gets off to the smell of my own flatulence, I can’t be a man. Is that it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Duo, knock it off,” Trowa snapped, wrapping his arm around his husband who was simmering like rice in a pressure cooker. “Men don’t have to be the definition of masculine to be a man.”

Quatre turned big baby blues on his husband. “You don’t think I’m masculine?”

Trowa gave him a reassuring smile and tenderly brushed blond hair off his forehead. “Of course I do, baby.”

Duo snorted and reached for another beer. “You’d have trouble convincing an ape.”

Quatre narrowed his eyes. “Then I guess that leaves you out.”

Wufei snickered into his wine cooler. “Ouch.”

Heero, however, was morbidly curious. “So what does define a man if not masculinity?”

Trowa pulled his husband into his chest and shrugged. “A lot of things can define a man. Chromosomes, genitalia, gender identity.”

“Chromosomes,” Duo tutted, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Yeah, except Quat’s ‘y’ chromosome decided it likes pink, frilly shirts.”

“Nevertheless,” Trowa said firmly, fixing Duo with a dark look. Quatre struggled in the confines of his arms, no doubt wanting to launch himself at their friend and throttle him with that rope of hair that was draped over his shoulder, but Trowa held him tightly. “Quatre is a man and I don’t want you giving him anymore grief tonight.”

Duo thought long and hard about that. “Just for tonight?”

“Duo, enough,” Heero intervened. Trowa rarely displayed anger and only on the behalf of two specific people, one of which was in his arms. Heero had seen that anger once before and he would be a very happy man indeed if he never saw it again.

Thankfully, Duo typically listened to Heero and this time was no exception. “As you wish. You know I don’t mean nothin’ by it, Q.”

Quatre glowered at him. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”

“...Yes?”

“Whatever,” the blond grumbled, tucking his legs beneath him. “Hand me another daiquiri, please.”

“Strawberry, or peach?”

“Strawberry.” He caught the beverage as Heero tossed it over to him and used the bottle opener on Trowa’s key ring to pop the cap off. “Thanks.”

“Trowa, you want another beer?”

“No, I’m good for now, thanks.”

“You know what I wanted to be when I grew up?” Duo suddenly asked, changing the subject as quickly as Dorothy Catalonia changed outfits.

“Assuming you actually grew up,” Wufei replied.

Duo ignored him and flipped a bottlecap into the fire with a flick of his thumb. “A teacher.”

The other four stared at him in shock, but it was Heero who said, “Really? I never would have guessed.”

“Yeah, well. I guess you could say Sister Helen rubbed off on me.” He shook his head. “It still amazes me that I wound up where I did.”

“I think we all have some of that,” Trowa said. “It’s not something any of us really planned on.”

Quatre nodded. “It is weird how it just, sort of...happened. I don’t remember even thinking about it. Just...one minute I wasn’t piloting a mobile suit and the next, I was.”

“It doesn’t matter how much of a soldier you are at heart,” Heero mused, staring intently at the flames as his mind returned to the much darker days of a young boy who, once upon a time, didn’t know how to do anything else. “War always takes you by surprise.”

“Damn, Heero. Color me shocked, but I thought you were always ready for anything. Maybe you are human after all.”

He glanced at Duo and smiled when he saw the trace humor in his eyes, just barely concealing how impressed he was by Heero's confession. “You know, J did everything he could to train that out of me. My humanity, I mean.” He shook his head, his mind remembering things that he now knew were nothing less than unspeakable torture by a man so twisted by his own righteous ideals that he couldn’t have cared less about the child he’d nearly destroyed in the process.

Despite J’s efforts to manipulate, humiliate, beat, cut, poke, prod, starve, isolate, and electrocute the humanity out of him, he’d ultimately failed. Once Heero had reached that epiphany, he’d discovered that the one who’d lacked humanity all along was J.

The once highly respected and brilliant engineer had sold his soul to the Devil for the price of corrupting an innocent child who wasn’t even fully capable of understanding what exactly he was being forced to fight for.

He’d lost his childhood and even himself for a while, fighting for the adults who’d started the whole thing to begin with. All five of them had lost vital pieces of themselves. Pieces that could never be retrieved.

And goddamn it, it wasn’t fair.

“Heero? You okay?”

He jumped, rattled as Quatre’s voice filtered through like a foghorn in the mist and he shook the memories away with concerted effort. “Yeah,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Heero, you don’t have to be,” Trowa assured him. “You don’t always have to be fine, especially around us.”

“Yeah, man. We get it, y’know?” Duo clapped a chummy hand onto his shoulder and squeezed.

He nodded and forced a smile onto his face. “I know. But I really am fine. For the longest time, I actually believed I wasn’t human. It was Relena...and you guys that made me realize I was. That I had been all along.”

Duo shook his head as he cracked open another beer. “It’s criminal what they did to us. It’s too bad they’re dead. I’d like to kill them all over again.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty. It’s a classic case of 'If I’d known then what I know now',” Wufei mused, looking lost in thought.

“H tried that with me,” Quatre told them. “At first, he tried to kill the human side of me, but...I think he eventually realized that he couldn’t. I believe he thought it was more advantageous to exploit what I already was and weaponize it instead of trying to break me and start from scratch.”

“S didn’t even have to do anything to me really,” Trowa admitted. “When I accepted the job of piloting Heavyarms, I didn’t have anything to lose. I was trained to follow orders since I was able to walk. I just...did what they told me and tried not to think too much about it.”

Duo worried his lip between his teeth as he tossed another bottlecap into the fire. “Yeah, G was a lot like H, I think. I think he knew pretty much from the beginning that breaking me would be more work than it was worth. He was a manipulative fucker, though. He lied to me constantly. Frizzy-haired prick.”

“O used my grief against me,” Wufei said with a slight hitch in his voice. “My emotions, my insecurities. He never let me forget that my wife died to protect our colony...to protect _me_.” He laughed. It was so soft, it was barely audible, yet the bitterness could still be heard. “He never missed an opportunity to make me feel utterly pathetic, worse than the dirt on the bottom of his shoes. And then he channeled all that pain...the grief, the shame...the rage that I carried inside me and trained me to use it against the enemy.”

For several minutes, the room was silent but for the crackle of the fire. Each of them lost in memories they prayed to forget, but knew they never would.

“Like I said,” Duo finally murmured in a voice that was uncharacteristically monotone. “Criminal.”

“I wonder why it took so long for any of us to talk about this,” Quatre said. “It’s been ten years.”

“Because we weren’t ready to until now,” Heero answered and then tipped his beer back, drinking down a third of the bottle. His head felt fuzzy, like static on a radio in between frequencies. Not quite drunk, but not sober either.

Quatre blinked and nodded slowly, looking more intoxicated than the rest of them. “I suppose.” His misty eyes met Heero’s gaze and he tipped his chin up. “Gimme another one.”

“Uh, no,” Trowa intervened, holding his hand up to stop Heero from giving the blond another bottle of fruit flavored booze. “I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

Quatre glared up at him, though he looked more like a rumpled kitten than anything remotely threatening. “Why not? Duo’s had twice as many as I have.”

“Yeah, but you have no tolerance, blondie. You’ve had four wine coolers and you’re already more wasted than Howard at the Sweepers’ annual Hash Bash.”

Quatre’s bottom lip protruded with a petulant pout, but he didn’t press the issue and when Trowa pulled him into his chest, he went willingly enough. “I want to go to a Hash Bash one of these days.”

“In your dreams,” Trowa told him, smiling affectionately down at his husband. “The media would have a field day with that.”

“I’ll go incognito,” Quatre declared, triumphantly thrusting his arm into the air. Luckily Trowa had reflexes similar to that of his beloved big cats, or else the blond would have popped him right in the nose.

“Now you’re talkin’, Quat. A little hair dye, or a wig. A fake mustache, some sunglasses…Betcha Howie would let you wear one of his tacky shirts, too.”

Trowa narrowed his eyes in warning. “Don’t encourage him, Duo.”

“Though it would look more like a tacky dress on you,” Duo amended, twirling the end of braid between his fingers. “He’s put on a little weight,” he explained at the collectively inquisitive looks.

“How much is a ‘little’?” Wufei asked.

Duo tapped his chin in thought. “Hmmm…’bout sixty pounds.”

“Holy shit, really?” Quatre bolted upright and this time, Trowa wasn’t quick enough to pull his head out of the way.

Duo winced as he witnessed the painful collision and clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Gotta be quicker, Tro.”

The other man glowered at him as he rubbed his forehead. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

Quatre recovered much faster considering his nerve endings were numbed by fermented fruit punch. “You know what I wanted to be when I grew up?”

“A man?” Duo chortled, but quickly sobered at the dual glares from Trowa and Heero. “Alright, I'll bite. What’s that, Q?”

“A famous singer.”

“You do have a lovely voice,” Trowa complimented him as he pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead. “You would have been a great singer.”

Quatre blinked up at him in confusion. “What you mean ‘would have been’? I’m only twenty seven, _dear_. I still have time to make my dreams come true.”

“Of course you do, love.”

“Christ, can you two stop being so ooey-gooey, lovey-dovey?” Wufei griped, scowling at the two men snuggling together on the giant floor pillow. “It’s making me queasy.”

“That’s probably the Seagram’s,” Duo informed him. “Told you you should have stuck to beer. Wine coolers taste good going down, but after a couple of hours, you start to regret them.”

Wufei’s face twisted and Heero stiffened in alarm. When the Chinese man suddenly doubled over and began heaving, Heero’s instinct was to keep him from getting vomit on Relena’s Moroccan rug. He swiped the nearest object without thinking which, unfortunately, was his wife’s priceless fourteenth century Ming Dynasty vase, and lunged towards Wufei just in time to catch the regurgitated pizza and imitation peach daiquiris.

His nose twitched from the smell, but he stayed his ground until his friend emptied his stomach and slouched in the chair like a sweaty lump. By the time he realized what Wufei had just puked in, it was far too late to do anything about it. “Oh, shit.”

“Heh,” Duo blurted in a half laugh, half burp. “Damn, Fei. You should feel honored. It's not everyday someone gets to barf in an ancient relic of the Chinese royal family.” He clapped his hand on Heero’s back. “Don’t worry about it, man. A little hot water and a few drops of dish soap and ‘Lena will never know the difference.”

Heero turned his gaze from the now passed-out Wufei who was draped over the arm of the chair with his head hanging over the edge to stare incredulously at the man behind him. “Are you nuts? You can’t just throw stuff like this in the dishwasher and call it a win. There’s a special process done by professionals when it comes to cleaning ancient artifacts.”

He set the vase down with a groan and flopped face first onto the bean bag. “‘Lena’s going to murder me.”

“If it’s any consolation, she’ll probably murder Fei first so you might have a chance to escape.” Duo paused and then added, “Maybe you should just leave town for a while. Y’know, until she cools off.”

Heero shook his head, bleating into the squishy plastic. “She’ll send her security detail after me. They’ll follow me to the ends of the earth and she’ll never rest until my head is surrounded by decorative vegetation on her favorite Sheffield serving platter.”

Duo hummed in agreement. “Sucks to be you, man. S’what you get for marrying into money.”

Heero lifted his head and glared at him. “You’re not helping.” He pushed himself up, turning to Trowa and Quatre who’d grown suspiciously quiet during his existential crisis, and balked in outrage when he saw them both out cold. “Oh, for Christ's sake. Some friends you guys are.” At least Duo was still conscious, though whether that was a good thing remained to be seen.

“Hey, Heero. If you do die, I call dibs on your Ferrari 488 GTB.”

 

_End._

 

***

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**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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